


Touch of My Hand

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bus Sex, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, PWP, Tour Bus Sex, Uan era, Up All Night Tour, baby boyfriends in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Harry is wanking in the bunk above Louis and that's like, totally unacceptable.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Morale seemed low in the fandom today so I decided to post one of the finished PWPs I've been sitting on to remind everyone why we're here...these two idiots in love. 
> 
> Just straight up porn, for the most part. I'm a huge fan of the tourbus sex trope, both for its impracticality and its hotness. So here's some of that. Thank you everyone, enjoy!

Louis is half-dreaming in his bunk on the bus when he hears it. 

Naturally, he’s half-dreaming about Harry, so he’s not entirely sure it’s _real_. Regardless, his eyes fly open, heart suddenly lodging itself in his throat as the inside of his bunk materializes around him, the familiar rocking of the bus jostling him further awake. He listens, hard, and hears it again. 

This time, he’s sure he’s not dreaming it. Harry made a _noise_ , and he knows exactly what that noise is, would know it anywhere, in any universe. 

Harry is _wanking_ , in the bunk just above him. He recognizes the choked-out sounds he makes, the way his breathing gets weak and shaky, the way he makes that low, cut-off _hmmph_ noise with his teeth in his perfect red lips. He _knows_ the way Harry moves, how he starts slow with his thighs loose and splayed, then curls onto his side when he gets closer, forearm flexing as he twists his grip at the top, the way his foreskin kisses wetly over his cockhead. Louis knows all of this because he’s watched, he’s studied the bend in Harry’s wrist, the fluttering jerks of his hips when he comes. He’s held him through all of it, dazed and dry-mouthed and amazed because the simplest things seem amazing when you’re in love for the first time. 

Louis’s own cock twitches in his joggers. He reaches clumsily to palm it through his duvet, mind fuzzy, hand slow-moving. He can hardly remember where he is or what's going on; they played a show last night, and instead of crashing at a hotel, they merely piled onto the bus, stripped out of their sweaty wardrobe, and collapsed into their bunks to get some sleep on the way to the next city. He can’t even remember what that city _is_. All he knows is that he’s exhausted and turned on, and Harry is wanking without him, which is incomprehensibly _unfair_. 

He listens hard, waiting for the shift of Harry’s weight, the rustle of his long, clumsy body curled up in that too-tight space. When he hears it, his heart stops a little. He _hates_ not getting to sleep curled around the warmth of Harry’s back; it seems like a huge injustice that he doesn’t get to hold him every night, but Harry hardly fits in these bunks by himself, let alone with Louis. Of course, there have been nights when it was just too hard to sleep apart for whatever reason, and they’d squeeze into the same bunk to crash in a sticky tangle of limbs, but Harry would always wake up with a sore back sometime in the middle of the night and reluctantly leave for his own bunk, and for some reason, that was worse than Louis just forcing himself to go to sleep alone in the first place. Still, his heart aches at the knowledge that Harry is so _close_ , but not close enough. Not pressed up against him, like he should be. 

Louis almost gasps when he hears the distinctive sound of Harry lifting his hips up so he can shimmy out of his pajama pants. He pictures it, his long pale legs gathered up in front of him, knees bent so he can fit, cock flushed and hard and beautiful against his stomach or trapped in the flimsy briefs he wears sometimes. Louis gets his hand in his joggers and tugs on his foreskin, pumping himself slowly as he listens for Harry, all his tics and tells. 

It takes a minute or so, but eventually Harry picks up his pace, moving carelessly enough that Louis can hear the rhythmic shift of his body as he thrusts into his own fist. He matches the motion, fully hard and leaking now, smearing precum wetly on the inside of his joggers as he touches himself the way Harry would, the way Harry _is_. It feels good because it’s not how he normally wanks, slower and rougher and more drawn out; Harry likes to luxuriate in his own touch where Louis likes to get off fast and hard. This feels like teasing, like _Harry_ is teasing him, and it’s stupidly good. He’s getting out of breath, enough so that it’s close to panting, and he wonders if the other boys are awake, if they can hear what’s going on. If anyone will notice if he crawls out of his bunk and into Harry’s. 

It’s getting hot and damp behind the closed curtain of his bunk, and Louis can smell himself. His arousal and last night’s show sweat clinging to the hair in his underarms, newly sharp and spicy as he moves in this tight, humid space, skin prickling with new perspiration. He thinks about the way Harry must smell right now since he’s been wanking up there for awhile, playing with himself for god _knows_ how long. Louis’s mouth _waters_ , and he stops caring all together if the other lads see him. He wants his boy. 

“Hazza,” he whispers, stunned by how hoarse and feathery his voice sounds, almost like nothing at all. He clears his throat and knocks on the ceiling of his bunk with his fist, hoping Harry’s not too lost in his own touch to feel the thump of it. “Haz?” 

Harry freezes, everything in his bunk going terribly still above Louis. _Caught_ , Louis thinks hazily as he disentangles himself from his covers and slides carefully out of his bunk, blinking in the harsh morning light because apparently the sun is out. He can hear faint music coming from Niall’s bunk; _someone_ is awake, but he doesn’t care. He’s hard and breathless, and it’s _cold_ out here, and Harry is so close, but not close enough. 

He tries to pull Harry’s curtain open, but he’s holding it closed, fingers curled defensively around the edge of it as Louis tugs. “Oi, _Hazza_ , it’s me, let me up. I can hear you,” he whines, voice nothing above a whisper.

Harry finally pulls back the curtain, and _god_ , Louis’s stomach plummets so hard it hurts. He’s so beautiful and so worked up, cheeks flushed a deep pink and eyes terribly shot and green, mouth swollen because he always chews his lips when he wanks. He looks thrilled and mischievous and mortified all at once, and Louis loves him fiercely, breath catching. “Gonna let me in?” Louis whispers, and Harry nods dumbly. 

Louis hops up into the dark, humid, sex-smelling confines of Harry’s bunk, yanking the curtain closed behind him before covering Harry’s body with his own, both of them cramped in the tiny space, so close it feels like there isn’t enough air to breathe. Harry is almost too hot to touch, trembling and sweat-dewy and salty and _needy_ , clawing at Louis and drawing him in desperately, mouth open against his ear as he immediately huffs out, “I was thinking about you.” 

Louis’s cock pulses, precum sluicing out messily at how husky and low and wrecked Harry’s voice is. “Why didn’t you come find me, then? I was right there,” he murmurs, rutting against Harry’s thigh as much as he can given the tight quarters. 

“I wanted to,” Harry whines, nosing into Louis’s pulse and inhaling, “but I thought you were sleeping.” 

“Could have still come, I always want that,” Louis whispers, feeling drunk on the way Harry smells, his morning breath with the ghosts of last night’s celebratory champagne on it, the sticky product still in his hair, powdery foundation traces clinging to the skin near his hairline because he always half-asses wiping his makeup off. He smells filthy and boyish and sharp and musky, sweat and sweet and sex, _Harry_ , without the airbrushing, without the glamour. “God,” Louis mumbles, burying his face in Harry’s hair, thinking that this, falling in love, has made him _crazy_ , and he doesn’t even care. “I missed you, always missing you.” 

“Missed you, too, wanted you,” Harry babbles mindlessly, hands rucking up under Louis’s shirt and grabbing fistfuls of skin. “Was thinking about your cock.” 

“Oh, god,” Louis murmurs, licking into the slick, messy heat of Harry’s mouth, stealing rough kisses as they grind together. “What about it?” 

“Sucking it,” Harry breathes, eyes half-lidded and so bright in the dark. “Like always.” 

Louis inhales raggedly, forever moved by the way Harry is _so_ into blowing him, the way he drops to his knees so easy and opens his mouth and comes over his own fist sometimes just from sucking on Louis, so wet and sloppy and hungry like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s been like that since the very beginning, and Louis hasn’t stop being overwhelmed by it, his stomach clenching spectacularly at how _shot_ Harry sounds, just telling him that. “Thinking about the way I taste, that it?” he murmurs, gritting his teeth as he lets go of Harry long enough to fumble awkwardly down the front of his own joggers and coat his fingers in precum. 

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Harry says, way too loudly, and Louis bites him to shut him up, one swift nip to the side of his neck. 

“Shh! Niall’s up, you know,” he hisses. “Can you keep quiet?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answers, not very quietly at all, voice just a loose, messy slur of words. He’ll say anything to get Louis to touch him. 

Louis thumbs over his lips, heart pounding because Harry is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen or touched, and he’s _right here_ , lost and panting and so fucking desperate for him. He pushes his shaking fingers into the slippery heat of Harry’s mouth, feeling the soft slick inside of his cheek before Harry swirls his tongue over Louis’s knuckles and _groans_ as he tastes him. 

“ _Baby_ , shhh, come on,” Louis warns, choking Harry a little with his fingers, like it’ll actually make him quieter instead of more shameless and hungry for it. “Gotta be quiet,” he says, sliding his fingers out, shiny with spit. 

“ _More_ ,” Harry begs, and Louis is already there, collecting precum from his sensitive cockhead with spit-wet fingers, eyes locked on Harry, the flush of his cheeks, the way his tongue keeps sweeping his lower lip in anticipation. 

“Get on your side,” Louis tells him in a hush, rolling Harry over, loving how easy it is to mold him into position. He fits himself snugly around his back so he can grind against his ass and fuck his mouth with his fingers at the same time, nose buried in the soft, sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re so perfect, so fucking gorgeous, Harry, I can hardly stand it,” he murmurs against skin,easing his fingers into Harry’s plush mouth and feeding him more of him. “Are you gonna make yourself come for me?” he whispers. 

Harry groans wordlessly in response, voice nothing but a hoarse vibration against Louis’s fingers. Louis breathes him in desperately, humping the warm cleft of his ass, dizzy and too hot and shaking all over. Harry is getting his fingers _so_ wet, drooling down into his palm and sucking so noisily it’s not discreet at _all_ , so in a last-ditch effort to keep him quiet, Louis pulls his hand back with a wet smack. 

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry whines, tongue flicking in the air.

“You’re being _so loud,_ ” Louis huffs, tugging Harry’s head to the side by his curls with his other hand. “Kiss me?” 

Harry does whatever he’s told, craning his neck at an angle so he can kiss Louis deep and graceless, the inside of his mouth tasting salty-bitter with Louis’s precum, so dirty his stomach plummets. He tucks his spit-slick fingers into Harry’s briefs to feel the quick, messy jerk of his hand over his cock, then palms over his hip and into his hot crack. The feel of Harry’s skin here, dark and crinkled and soft and damp and thin makes him groan into their kiss. He rubs over his hole, loving how soft and sweaty Harry is because it makes him so easy to push into. He eases his index finger in up to the second knuckle, cock twitching at the terrible _heat_ of him, clenching and gripping and pulling him closer, deeper. 

Harry comes. Louis can _feel_ it here, the rhythmic pulsing of his walls as Harry locks up and goes silent and slack, the loveliest furrow in his brow. “ _God_ ,” Harry gasps as his body starts spasming, ass still tight and greedy around Louis’s finger, hips bucking as he spills over his own fist.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, feeling around inside Harry for a few seconds before the tight clench of his body relents a fraction, letting him go so he can slide out of the infernal heat. 

Harry sprawls out as much as he can, his limbs heavy and all over Louis’s body as he catches his breath. “So much better than wanking,” he whispers after a few moments. 

“I should hope so,” Louis jokes, but his voice comes out raw, tattered. He want so badly to come, his cock aching in his joggers, twitching under the weight of Harry’s leg. He gingerly reaches for himself, but Harry perks up, slapping his hand away. 

“ _No,_ ” he says urgently. “Let me suck you.” 

Louis’s cock twitches painfully, but he snorts at Harry. “Good luck, you’re not gonna be able to get a good position in here to do that. Just touch me.” 

“Um, _watch me_ ,” Harry says cheekily, grinning at Louis from beneath a mess of curls, and really, Louis isn’t gonna stop him from _trying_ , not when he looks so bright and unreal and messed up like that. He stretches out a little, knees bent and legs parted as Harry reverently pulls his cock out of his joggers, whimpering as he sees him. “God, Lou, you’re so gorgeous,” he breathes, thumbing over the vein on the underside, making Louis bite his arm to silence the keening whine crawling up his throat. 

Harry arranges himself so he’s crouched, bent over his own knees as if in prayer. His ass is facing Louis and it’s a spectacular view, really, so Louis doesn’t discuss the impracticality of bus bunk blowjobs any longer. He tugs the waistband of Harry’s briefs down over the curve of his bum, thumbing lovingly into his crack and over his hole, biting his lip at the way he twitches and flutters, opening up like he didn’t just come inside his pants. “So pretty,” he mumbles, followed by a sharp gasp because Harry is lapping at him, sloppy, hungry licks all around the crown of his cock, so wet and messy. 

“Mmm,” Harry groans before sealing his lips over him and sucking him greedily, tongue lashing at the slit. He pulls off, shaking as he adjusts his position a little. “So good,” he slurs. “Best thing.” 

“Is your back seizing up yet?” Louis asks lightly, pretending like he wasn’t close to coming just from that, those messy sucks and Harry’s ass right here, inches from his face. “Can you move so I can lick you here?” he asks in a reedy voice, thumbing over Harry’s hole. 

Harry groans low and broken, shuffling into the world’s most awkward position so he can keep his mouth on Louis’s prick and also straddle his face at the same time. He nudges his knee up against the curtain and very nearly opens it, but Louis has the sense to grab it in his fist to keep it in place while Harry settles on top of him. It’s awkward, and his neck hurts and his legs are trembling, but he doesn’t even care; he wants to taste Harry, and he wants to come, and he’s so fucking close to having both of these things that he feels wild and blind and desperate with it.

He can smell Harry before he gets his tongue in him, musky and sharp and spicy, no shower in 24 hours, and Louis _loves_ him like this, loves the raw, undiluted purity of Harry and Harry alone, Harry unwashed and broken down and his, his, his. He arches his neck up off the pillow, holds him open, and licks hungrily over his hole, dizzy with the heady dark taste of him.

Harry whimpers around his mouthful, drooling messily into Louis’s pubic hair as he chokes himself on his cock, taking as much as he can, and _fuck_ , his mouth is so hot and so _needy_ that Louis is losing it without even realizing it, legs locking up and spine curling as he empties himself, sobbing weakly against Harry’s ass. 

He lies there while Harry flops onto his side and nurses him, milking whatever else he can get out of his spent cock, humming complacently until he pulls off, kissing Louis gently before wiping his mouth. “Well, _that_ was easy,” he drawls smugly. 

“Oh, shut up, I’d been wanking for ages before you got to me,” Louis half-lies, gesticulating loosely in the air as Harry rights himself and collapses in his arms. He nuzzles into Harry’s curls, huffing out a contented sigh. “I _am_ impressed with your flexibility, though.” 

“I’m impressed with yours,” Harry says seriously, even though Louis hardly _did_ anything at all, let alone something flexible. He’s beaming, all bright green eyes and chaotic curls and that glorious, perfect dimple. Louis’s chest feels like it’s going to explode, growing tighter and tighter as Harry cocks his head and adds, “I’m in love with you.” 

He always says that after sex, not _love you_ or even _I love you_ , but the entire, life-altering statement. _I’m in love with you_ , like it’s a declaration every time. It makes Louis’s heart stop. 

“I’m in love with you, too,” he says back, arms tight around Harry’s shoulders, squeezing him so tight they’re both trembling with the force of it. 

He’s about to nod off, covered in come and sweat and spit like a fresh coat of gross on top of last night’s show filth, Harry nestled and sleep-wheezing against him, when he hears it. 

“Are they _done_?” Liam murmurs cautiously from somewhere on the bus. 

“Yeah, finished ‘bout fifteen minutes ago,” Niall snickers. “I had me headphones in, but I could still hear them. Fucking bastards.” 

Louis’s eyes snap open, and he considers joining this little conversation, pulling the curtain back just far enough to toss something at Niall and Liam, to tell them, _Call me a bastard all your want but not my boyfriend._

But then Harry snores against his chest, face mashed up and lips so pink and chapped, come crusted on his chin, and Louis can’t really be bothered to move at all. 

——


End file.
